


It must be the truth.

by ReekaJean



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Christmas Fluff, Gen, Happy Christmas, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Sherlock gets his violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:18:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReekaJean/pseuds/ReekaJean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Sherlock tries to decide if Father Christmas is real. Mycroft knows, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It must be the truth.

The soon-to-be-five-year-old boy stirred and pushed his duvet off, sitting up to listen for any noises coming from the main floor. Silence. He frowned. He’d been expecting some sort of noise, though he wasn’t sure exactly what. He looked around the room; it was glowing with the yellow of a small nightlight. Another boy, older, was in the bed, quilt pulled nearly over his head. The gentle sound of his breath, his light snores, made the silence a little more bearable. The boy padded over to the window and studied what little he could see by the moonlight. It was snowing. At least two inches on the ground already. No stars. No movement. Everything was still. Silent. He frowned again and walked over to the bed.

“Wake up.” He whispered, tugging at the quilt.

“Hmmf.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“G’back t’sleep.”

“You promised.” The child’s statement was far from a whine. It was a fact. Stated. Full-stop.

“Oh, fine; but know you’re a pest,” The older boy mumbled, sitting up to stretch, “What’ve you found so far?”

“Nothing. Everything’s silent, even outside. It’s like time has stopped except for you and me and the falling snow. It’s strange.”

“Not strange. It’s called 'four in the morning.'”

“Four in the morning is strange, then.”

“It’s strange to be _awake_ at four in the morning.”

“Are you going to come with me or not?” The younger boy was getting impatient. It was obvious he was waiting on something, _expecting_ something.

“Yes, yes.” The older boy said with a yawn. “Coming.”

The older boy got out of bed and slipped his feet into a pair of slippers. He tousled the messy brown curls and smiled sleepily as the two walked out of the bedroom.

“D’you think he came?” The little one asked.

“What do you think?”

“I think I shouldn’t theorize without all the facts.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

The pair made it to the spiral staircase and anxiously, the boy bounded down the stairs. He waited at the bottom for the elder to catch up, and then he reached for his hand and tugged.

“See anything?” The older boy asked.

“No. Nothing has moved. Nothing has changed.”

“Very well. Into the sitting room, then.”

The young brunette led the way, freezing at the door frame. “There’s soot on the carpet.”

“It appears so, yes.”

“Father will be angry.”

“Don’t worry about Father. Go on. Go in.”

The boy looked up at his brother for reassurance. The elder nodded, and so did the younger.

The Christmas tree was brightly lit, decorated with the finest ornaments. It cast a colorful glow to the room, making even the dullest objects come to life like magic. Under it were a few wrapped presents, tucked around the tree skirt - the presents that he had helped his mother wrap the afternoon prior. There was something else though, something lying alone, unwrapped, in front of everything.

A violin.

“He came, Mycroft! He came! He’s real, isn’t he?”

The older boy smiled knowingly and nodded, “When you have eliminated the impossible, Sherlock, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”


End file.
